


Blow your mind

by withered



Series: Roses (by another name) [18]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Shinigami, Alternate Universe - Office, Elevator Sex, F/M, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rivals to Lovers, Semi-Public Sex, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Rukia knows Ichigo could blow her away, that's not the point. The point is. She reallyreallywants him to.
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Roses (by another name) [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/843906
Comments: 22
Kudos: 114





	Blow your mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elusianmysteries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusianmysteries/gifts).



> Prompted by eleusinianmystery in the tumblr asks with the request for some elevator fun~

Rukia has been staring so intently at a PDF that she can see the image of the screen behind her lids when she blinks too long. She thinks she might need to pack it in for today, but she's got a deadline and the documents aren't going to write itself. Rolling her shoulders in preparation for the task ahead, she cringes at the sharp pull at her shoulder, body aching to punish her after the long day she's had, and the long night she's probably in for.

She despises the new candidate attorneys with all her heart, and she fully intends to crush them beneath her favorite pair of Burberry heels.

Mechanically grappling for her mug, she immediately regrets drinking the dredge of coffee that had remained at the bottom of it. It's stone cold and bitter, and Rukia's never identified with an inanimate object more.

"Oi, Rukia, are you done yet?" comes the drawl of her neighbor through the partition separating them.

It had been quiet for so long with only the hum of her computer to keep her company that Rukia startles enough to upend the contents of her mug on herself in surprise. It isn't a lot and isn't hot, thank god, but its not great.

Especially since she'll probably find herself in the office for another all nighter; the glamorous life of a lawyer with a bullpen of baby lawyers wrecking havoc on her life. 

She's going to end nii-sama.

When she'd told her brother, a senior partner in the firm, that she was ready for more responsibility, Rukia didn't mean head the training of the new recruits, as Yoruichi cheerfully refers to them as.

Not only were other people very much Not Her Thing, the new candidates were fresh faced university graduates with too many expectations and not nearly enough work ethic, and Rukia _hated_ them.

Mainly because she'd had to give up her sweet corner office to situate herself in the chaos of it all and on top of that, was forced into being office neighbors with Kurosaki fucking Ichigo.

They'd been trying to one-up one another ever since they'd found themselves in Professor Urahara's "How to Get Away with Murder" class at Seireitei State in their third year. And just when Rukia had thought she'd gotten free of him after they'd graduated _bam!_ Yoruichi came crowing into the office with a top candidate she'd snatched under Aizen Sosuke's nose.

Rukia and Ichigo had been stuck together ever since, this time in the new post of corralling the newest intake of candidates because -- "I'm confident that if you can reign each other in, the children will be no problem", nii-sama had said, you know, _like an asshole_ because he was aware of how much Ichigo got under her skin and for all that Byakuya likes to pretend he's above annoying her, he isn't.

Still, they were good at their jobs both individually and when they worked together so the arrangement had continued. There's no actual reason to dislike Ichigo, honestly, and Rukia would've liked to think under normal conditions, she and Ichigo could be friends.

But every time he opened his mouth to snark at her or shoot her an infuriating smirk, she wanted to punch him. With her mouth.

Which is a problem because she cannot - _absolutely cannot_ \- get involved with someone at the office.

She already gets conspiratorial whispers of nepotism aimed her way because the firm has her last name and her brother happens to be the boss. She doesn't need the accusation that she slept her way through the office on top of that.

Not that Ichigo would exactly be interested in her given what she's seen of his previous conquests -- Rukia just isn't his type, and there's absolutely nothing with that. She'll just take her sexual frustration out on the candidates' monthly reviews -- they'd be awful with or without it, but she finds she's more creative with her turn of phrase when she's feeling particularly high strung. Something that's really only abated after she's put in the effort to meet up with Renji to work out her unresolved frustration, but nonetheless, she just hopes no one makes the correlation.

As she viciously scrubs at her already stained shirt, Rukia scolds Ichigo over his snickering, "What are you doing here?"

"You think you're going to get your pick of candidates for council first? Please," he scoffs through the thin wall. "Besides, I can't leave before you do, that'll make me look bad."

Which is impossible, she snorts.

Nothing could make Ichigo look bad.

Ever since they'd started working together all Rukia's ever seen of him is his perfectly tailored suits, his bland ties and his horrifyingly mismatched socks in polished leather shoes. He's ridiculous is what he is.

And even before they'd started at the firm, she'd seen Ichigo drag himself to class in his sweats, his hair flattened to the side of his head with smudges beneath his eyes for an early lecture after a night out partying. She'd seen him nervously pacing the hallway before his verbal defense in a too-tight button up, pressed slacks and a pair of smart leather oxfords. Twenty minutes later, she'd seen him look cool and confident with a devastating smirk and sharp brown eyes, winning his mock trial.

Memorably, Rukia had seen him on the verge of a panic attack before their graduation ceremony, bright eyed and ashen in his gown as he stuttered to say that _my mom can't be here and I've known that for years because she's been dead since I was nine but god what the fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this without her -_

(And Rukia had stooped down beside him on the ground, pulled the hand he'd been raking down his face in his panic, and told him that his mom would've been proud of him; unaware that Ichigo remembered that day with perfect clarity every time he felt his breath catch that his mom wasn't here to see how far he'd come - or get the chance to meet Rukia.)

She'd seen him smile, small, and mostly from his eyes as he accepted his degree, and cursed that traitorous _dub-dub-dub_ of her heart for skipping a beat it shouldn't have.

It's ridiculous.

 _He's_ ridiculous.

Shaking her head, Rukia gives up on salvaging her shirt, and starts unbuttoning it.

She has a spare in the drawer for occasions like this. She's far too familiar with nights spent in the office. The material will be a little wrinkled, but it's nearing midnight as it is and it's unlikely anyone will see her in the next couple of hours to care, anyway. Besides, she's got another outfit for tomorrow, dry cleaned and ready to wear, hanging on the hook behind her door. With a quick brush of her hair and her teeth, and a reapplication of make-up, no one will be the wiser.

She's just managed to do up the last button of a now clean shirt when he appears in her doorway to be a witness to the fact that she's wired in the way work usually makes her.

Honestly, she probably looks a little manic. She feels like she is.

God, she needs to get laid.

With his suit jacket slung over his arm, messenger bag hanging off his shoulder, Ichigo tells her, "C'mon, lets get the hell out of here." Ichigo, the bastard -- work weary, shirt a little wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and tie loose at his throat -- looks fucking delectable, and it isn't fair.

Rukia looks away, back to her desk and her computer, and says, "I've got work."

"No you fucking don't," he scoffs, "you're always ahead, and since you couldn't get first dibs on the candidates for council, there's nothing you need to do right this second besides go home."

She wants to argue because its what she does -- what their relationship has been comprised of when they're not forced to be professional -- but instead Rukia rolls her eyes extravagantly and reminds, "Just because we're in this together, doesn't make you my keeper." 

"I'm fully aware," he dryly replies, "but if you're not at your best, I'll be dealing with the brats on my own, and I'm not above dangling them out the window if they piss me off. Would you really let that happen under your watch?"

She snorts. "What're you talking about, I'd open the window for you."

He snickers, but he doesn't make a move to leave. Again, Rukia rolls her eyes and waves off. "Fine, fine, I'll go." When Ichigo still doesn't move, she slides a glare at him. "What?"

"Don't mind me."

"That would be impossible," she deadpans.

Where Rukia has cultivated a picturesque winter in her persona - quiet, cold and unaffected - Ichigo is a summer storm in skin. Ignoring him is not an option.

"I'm just packing my shit," she says irritable when Ichigo leans against the door jam like he's settling in to wait, which he apparently is as he prompts, "Do it faster."

"You know I didn't ask you to wait for me," Rukia reminds him a little sharply, already mentally trying to parse out if she can get Renji to meet her tonight, or if she's stuck taking care of things herself. Not exactly the worst thing, she decides, especially if Renji's still trying to grow a pair to actually ask her out. Rukia really isn't in the mood to come up with excuses on why that would be a horrible idea.

"Didn't have to, I'm polite like that," Ichigo interrupts her train of thought to say, a smirk curling at his mouth, pulling creases at the corner of his eye as he feigns innocence, a look that doesn't falter even as she scowls at him.

Packing away what she needs to, she pointedly brushes by him to lock up her office.

There's a short moment when they're standing too close to one another at her door, and in less than a minute she's got a lungful of his faded cologne, and Rukia decides, _fuck it, the vibrator will do._

They're silent as they head towards the elevators, bypassing a sign that warns that connectivity -- cameras and the phone -- in the elevator has been disabled for maintenance and if there are issues to call the security desk directly. Already antsy about her vaguely formed plan to soothe the low heat in her belly, she doesn't pay the sign much mind except to vaguely wonder what issue they could possibly encounter in an elevator.

Getting stuck in it, apparently.

They're facing each other on opposite ends of the box when the elevator stops moving, and all Rukia can think when the lights dim around them is _fucking_ great.

"Fuck," Rukia exhales.

With his phone pressed to his ear to talk to the security desk, Ichigo slants a look at her before relaying a beat later, "They said they'll have it fixed in about an hour."

With a sound of acknowledgement, Rukia lets her messenger bag fall onto the floor at her side as she slouches where she stands, trying to draw her focus to literally anything else except for the ache she's invited between her thighs.

This is why she usually works until she passes out from exhaustion.

Rukia's always been the kind of person who gives everything or nothing. Unfortunately, biology identifies that kind of mindset as dangerous - without balance - and so it tries to compensate, tries to create equilibrium. Sometimes it means shutting off her brain with the endorphins derived from sweets or with a horror movie marathon. Sometimes its sex.

And because she's an idiot, and Ichigo's the cause of the sexual frustration that isn't derived from her disregard of maintaining a normal lifestyle that involves regular periods of rest, of course, her body's wrapped up in the thought of coming sometime in the very near future.

It'll make her pissy until it happens.

Which is fine.

Ichigo's used to that.

They're usually trying to take each other's heads off, this'll hardly be anything new. He'll probably just chalk it up her being a bitch.

It's fine.

It is.

It's not.

Rukia doesn't even remember what they're arguing about that has them meeting in the middle of the elevator as nose to nose as they can be given their height difference, before there aren't any words anymore. Just the firm press of lips, the sharp sting of teeth, the knowing swipe of a tongue. 

Ichigo's cupping her cheeks and sliding his fingers through her hair, pulling just enough to make sparks of awareness tingle from her scalp down her spine.

For an instant, he mistakes her groan for pain, but when he loosens his hold -- tries to withdraw -- she catches his mouth in hers and pushes them until Ichigo's back is to the wall, and the hand not in her hair moves down her straining chest.

It's always like this for her, zero to a hundred. When she's wired there's something...hungry about her, something that needs to _do_ and _be_ and _take_.

Renji just barely gets a handle on it.

Another sound, a whimper, is muffled with Ichigo's bruising kiss as his finger tugs a button loose almost by accident in his exploration before landing at the waistband of her pencil skirt.

And while Renji would have fiddled around beneath her coat trying to find the zipper for the skirt and tug it down, Ichigo just squeezes at her hip firm enough for Rukia to feel the pads of his fingers imprint against her skin as he tilts his head and gives as much as she's willing to take. All too happy, it seems, to let her lead.

She purrs at the pleasure of it, of not having to fight for a control she craves - and not being treated softer than she is in exchange for it. Ichigo's just as relentless and demanding and infuriating as always.

Even as he groans, friction between them met in spine-tingling shock, he makes no move whatsoever to do anything about it except to rock back, purposeful and unforgiving, through the many layers that separate them. 

"Jesus, _fuck,_ " she exhales, somewhere between agitated and aroused. 

Either way, Ichigo growls in response, and with a tug of his hand, he has her skirt hiked up to her waist and his hand in front of her underwear and - " _yes, yes, god, fuck. Touch me, please, Ichigo, I -"_

Rukia only realizes he'd come with nothing but her words and her thigh between his legs, but not before he slips his fingers between her lips, and not before he crooks his fingers and bites kisses down her neck as she whimpers and keens into his hair.

The lights flicker on to full brightness by the time she's managed to regain a normal enough amount of awareness, dazed as she still is, and all she really notices is the flush on Ichigo's cheeks, his neck, the triangle of skin at his throat where she'd tugged his tie loose and pawed at his chest.

She should feel bad about that, she thinks.

But Ichigo's just staring at her -- eyes heavily lidded, mouth red and tongue flicking out to wet his lips in a tease. He looks deliciously debauched and as usual, completely unrepentant where any normal person would be embarrassed. A fact that is evidenced by his drawl, "If I knew all it took for you to look at me twice was to piss you off in an elevator, I would've done it a lot earlier."

As he draws her to him once more, Rukia tells him, half-hearted and still breathless, "This is a bad idea."

"It's the best bad idea you'll ever have," he all but promises, gaze golden, and Rukia thinks _yeah, it probably will be._

Still, it needs to be said, "You're ridiculous."

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this: I know things in the world are really crazy right now so I hope the little bit of distraction I can provide helps in whatever way it can. I hope you're safe, please remember that you matter to me. 
> 
> [As always](https://everything-withered.tumblr.com/).


End file.
